"Minas Tirith" - Jacob's Thoughts

When last we saw our heroes at the end of Book III, Gandalf the White was racing across the night on Shadowfax, Pippin in tow, the latter traumatized by a vision of the Dark Lord.  It was a well-calculated cliff-hanger that had me excited for more, a narrative master-stroke that suddenly had me slightly resentful to rejoin Frodo and Sam after waiting a whole half-a-novel to find out what happened to them.

And now, nearly a full-year later on our dilettante reading schedule, having beheld Frodo succumb to Shelob and Samwise become the steward of the Ring, with all the fate of Middle-Earth dangling by a thread, I at last return to Pippin to find out...he's fine.  A-OK, in fact.  Even swears an impromptu, impulsive oath of fealty to the Steward of Gondor, in a semi-humorous, supposedly heart-warming(?) scene of sorts.  It actually wasn't a chore to follow him around the titular Minas Tirith, meet the locals, see the sights, breath in the calm before the storm.  This was yet another table-setting chapter, I get it.

Nevertheless, there was for me an inescapable sense of deflation, a rather anti-climactic wrap-up of a cliff-hanger I waited 10 months and 10 chapters to learn the resolution to.  Not every narrative-thread requires some grand denouement, I recognize that, but it seems like the chapter could have at least gestured towards the fact that Pippin has just beheld the Eye of Sauron, and mayhaps has a wee bit of PTSD after it.  Maybe this is all just a subtle commentary on the native resiliency of Hobbits, how these doddering little domesticates can stare straight into the heart of Evil Incarnate and still just shake it off like a bad dream--more worried about getting a good breakfast than the potential extinction of Middle-Earth--a secret source of strength that will yet prove to be the salvation of all.  But Pippin's easy stroll into Minas Tirith still felt like a missed opportunity.

Yet I will also admit that I was still happy to see Pippin OK (hardly a personal favorite!)--just as it is good to be back here in Middle-Earth altogether, no matter the gathering Darkness.  Chalk one up to the Professor, that he still had me quietly caring about these characters, almost in spite of myself.  There's only one novel left, so I'd better make the best of my last time here.

Peter Jackson's "The Two Towers" - Ben's Thoughts

I've probably seen this film the most out of Peter Jackson's trilogy. This is one of those films for which my enjoyment has been something of an inverse bell curve. Allow me to explain.

When I first saw the film, I remember enjoying it. The centerpiece of the film, the battle at Helm's Deep, was a truly awe-inspiring sequence upon first watch. The sheer scope of the battle, with all the computer-generated orcs swarming the imposing fortress, the ingenious siege devices that the book alludes to but doesn't fully describe, the destruction of the wall by suicide-orc -- it's all appropriately epic in scale. So I really think I did enjoy it upon first blush. But I remember the film left me with some nagging disappointments, and these feelings only grew and grew upon further viewings. The epic and terrifying battle scenes grew tedious for me. The initial chase sequences by Aragorn & Co., at first so exhilarating to see on screen for the first time (what Bakshi cartoon?), became boring. And those Ents -- oh, those Ents. Every time they show up on screen, barring the final "destruction of Isengard" sequence, the pace of the film just slows to a snail's pace. Interesting on the page, especially when we get a chapter of it all packed in and then a lengthy break, but ravaging to the pace of an action/adventure movie. I remember in college the university sponsoring a back-to-back showing of all three films and a friend recommending we give it a try. I had to walk out of "Two Towers" about five minutes in because I just couldn't take it any more. This nadir is the bottom of the bell curve for me.

So when I watched "Two Towers" with my wife in preparation for this blog post, I didn't launch into it with high expectations, even though it had probably been seven or eight years since I'd seen the film. Knowing that my tolerance for its digital excesses was low, we decided to split the viewing into three one-hour sessions spread out over a couple of nights, turning the film more into a mini-series than a marathon viewing. And you know what? The results were entirely positive. Oh, the film still has flaws, which I'll touch on in a minute, but even taking those into account, this is a really fun movie.

Broken into two parts, the action sequences at Helm's Deep are not nearly so tedious. Although they still have their ridiculous moments (Legolas skateboarding down the stairs on a shield leaps to mind, and Aragorn randomly jumping thirty feet from the top of a wall into the midst of the orc army is still eye-rollingly stupid), they are very effective at communicating the chaos, tragedy, and insensibility of battle. I love the fact that Theoden's grand moment of "drawing his sword" and heading to the gate is immediately truncated by the fact that he's stabbed by an orc spear within the first thirty seconds of fighting and has to pull back. Or the moment when he bars the gate on Aragorn and Gimli because they're not fast enough to get through before the entrance is sealed. Of course, Our Heroes (TM) are still protected by plot armor, but a cheerier film would have had them rush through before the gate was sealed, because they're individually more important than a hundred random soldiers. Or the scene where Haldir is dying and surveys the landscape of dead Elves, no doubt wondering about the futility or effectiveness of his participation in the battle. War sucks. "For death and glory?" Theoden asks Aragorn, when the latter proposes they ride out together into the fray. "For Rohan," Aragorn replies. "For your people." Give them a chance to escape through the tunnels; make your death have some meaning not just for you, but for the future.

You'll notice I've referenced Theoden a number of times already. Basically Bernard Hill and his portrayal of the Rohirrim king is the best part of the film. I always had pictured Theoden as a really old man with a long, silky white beard (probably because of that darn Bakshi cartoon, there it goes creeping in again), but Bernard Hill really inhabits the role. Some (Eric) may scoff at the scene where Theoden is donning his armor and reciting the Eorlingas verse, framed by the setting sun and intercut with images of the marching Uruk-hai closing in on the citadel, but man, that scene packs a punch every time for me. Theoden's ever-increasing sense of helplessness in the face of indomitable orcish advance ("What can men do against such reckless hate?" -- a line not in the books, but probably Jackson's most memorable original from all three films) rings true to me, because there really is so much inexplicable hate in the world (some housed within ourselves). What can we do? Face it, says Aragorn, and Bernard Hill beautifully captures the change within the king as he realizes that standing for something serves a purpose beyond simple "death and glory".

What else is great about the film? Gollum -- although the motion-capture CGI, which I thought still served well after all these years in "Fellowship", did not hold up as well in some of the scenes with Gollum -- but much has been said about Jackson's framing of the creature's internal and psychological struggles, and Andy Serkis' portrayal of said struggles elsewhere, so I will abstain. They're still great. Gandalf -- although I can't agree with the cosmetic choice to give him a fashionable shoulder-bob haircut (I much prefer long greasy-haired Gandalf the Grey) -- Ian McKellen continues to inhabit the character and convey the appropriate gravitas and power. The supporting Rohirrim cast members, especially Eomer and Eowyn.

What's not so good? The handling of the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas is reduced to outrageously bad action sequences and pensive looks. Gimli is nothing more than eye-rolling comic relief. Merry and Pippin are ten times more annoying in this movie than in the last one, and even so the script still has to hit Treebeard with the idiot bat so that the hobbits can seem like they're moving and shaking that plotline instead of just being carried around by a boring tree. Aragorn suffers from the bland love story flashbacks with Arwen and is forced to kiss a horse (this elicited chuckles from the theater audiences I originally saw the film with, I recall, but for me this scene and several others in the movie always generated within me that uncomfortable feeling of being embarrassed for the film I was watching). And Frodo and Sam. Oh, Frodo and Sam.

I realize that Peter Jackson felt like he had to spice that storyline up a little to make it more palatable for rapacious and critical audiences. But man, it feels like it's overboard. Frodo falls headfirst into the Dead Marshes. Sam falls over the cliff at the Morannon. The Black Rider's not just off in the distance, he's directly overhead. The oliphant is coming right at Sam and Faramir's tiny arrow manages to divert it. Faramir also saves Frodo from the Nazgul with his mighty Bow of Power (TM) when he shoots the flying creature it rides, then Sam tackles Frodo off the roof and they fall four stories onto the ground where Frodo draws his sword on Sam. Gag me.

I've already complained about the butchering of Faramir's character in the film. I'll never forgive Jackson for it, just for the sake of padding the movie a bit (and so much of the film feels like padding -- Frodo's tumble into the marshes, some of the Helm's Deep action, the warg attack and its aftermath). Instead of "showing his quality," Faramir tumbles off the deep end and seizes Frodo for Gondor. Then somehow they are transported from the orc-controlled east bank of the river to the west back with the rest of the Gondor forces; there's some fol-de-rol with the Nazgul, Faramir shoots it, and suddenly (and entirely inexplicably) he comes to his senses and Frodo and Sam are magically back on the east side of the river, going about their merry way. What?! And what, exactly, changes Faramir's mind? He's just seen Frodo go binky-bonkers and climb up on top of a tower, ready to hand the Ring over to the first Nazgul who calls to it, and has to be tackled by his pudgy servant in order to snap out of it. That's enough to say "at last, we understand each other" and turn him loose? No witnessing Frodo's magnanimity with respect to Gollum; no revelations about Boromir; no discussions of Faramir's hopes and dreams with respect to his country and Gondor. Nope, just a silly action sequence and then, bam, it's all resolved, plotline concluded. Ugh, it's just terrible.

My complaints could continue, but I'll cease and desist. I really did enjoy the film this time around; it's just very flawed. I have the haziest memory of "Return of the King"; I'm actually looking forward to seeing how Jackson resolves his epic film trilogy. "Two Towers" is definitely the weakest of the two, by all recollection, but even it has its moments of majesty. Certainly worth a watch every five to ten years!

"The Choices of Master Samwise" - Eric's Thoughts

This is somewhat of a monumental moment for us all -- Ben, Jacob and myself have completed the Two Towers and have blogged on two of three of the books! Quite an accomplishment, if I may say so! Why, I think even Samwise Gamgee would be rightfully impressed.

The chapter is good and provides a necessary conclusion to the cliffhanger in Shelob's lair. As Ben notes, this chapter, and the previous, is where Sam finally becomes more than a blubbering fool. As the orcs note, Sam succeeded in needling Shelob, which no warrior (great or small) had ever done before.

While Sam's dilemma and taking the Ring is good prose, the chapter really becomes interesting when Sam starts to listen into the orcs. The conversation immediately gives an insight into orc culture: they just want to be free and set up shop somewhere else . Orcs clearly hate working for Sauron, but they know that the people on the other side of the gate would treat orcs even worse. The orcs, if they even have a choice, ally themselves with the power that at least could give them some more "space."

Of course, the revelation that Frodo is not dead is the real shocker. I still remember that moment when I learned he was not dead, and it is a powerful moment. Now, on reread, since I know the plot, that revelation had less impact. Rather, I enjoyed paying more attention to Shagrat's and Gorbag's conversation as to a window into Mordor culture. It's clear that the orcs aren't blind automatons of evil. They have desires and hopes and opinions like everyone else in Middle Earth. And ambition. Both Gorbag and Shagrat want a piece of the assumed reward for finding the hobbit.

And, as I remember, the orcs' ambition and irritable nature is yet another provincial windfall that allows Frodo to ultimately succeed in his quest. That is to say, evil proves its own undoing.

"Shelob's Lair" - Eric's Thoughts

Frodo and Sam, after beating back an unseen beast with light, and cut through a swath of giant cobwebs that ricochet when struck with an ordinary sword, the hobbits emerge from the cave. Frodo in his desire to get away, separates from Sam. Shelob strikes. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, it does. Gollum strikes. The point of view of Sam in this chapter plays a critical role in ratcheting up the tension--not only is Sam fighting for his own life, but he is engaged in a struggle that has a clear ticking clock -- Sam must not only defeat Gollum, but do it quickly so he can help Frodo. This is storytelling done well: make things worse, give a brief glimmer of hope, and then make things even worse.

As my fellow readers note, this chapter is the climax of the entire Two Towers. The hobbits face the dragon in its lair, so to speak, and Gollum reveals himself as a true villain. One can only wonder how the outcome might have changed if Sam's treatment of Gollum was different. That is why Gollum presents such an interesting antagonist -- it's not clear whether the creature had any hope at all, or whether this had been his rotten plan all along and nothing the hobbits did could have stopped its execution. It is the continued ambiguity in Gollum that partly makes this chapter so tragic and compelling.

I notice that Jacob believes this chapter stands up as well as Khazad-Dum and Knife in the Dark (and the Voice of Saruman). I agree. The four chapters Jacob mentions (including this one) are probably among my favorite as well. What's particularly interesting to me is the similarities between the four chapters and why they are so compelling:

1. Characters stripped of senses: Three of the four chapters take place at night, in the dark
2. Claustrophobia: Two of the chapters are literally claustrophobic, involving tunnels and caves (Bridge and Shelob). Knife in the dark is arguably claustrophobic as well for the simple reason that the hobbits are trapped on a hill, and are surrounded by dangerous beings closing in fast
3. Superhuman villains: all four chapters present incredibly dangerous antagonists and otherworldly beings that present an immediate danger to the protagonists in their own way
4. Success comes only at great price: Knife in the dark involved Frodo getting stabbed and almost later dying from that wound; Bridge cost the Company Gandalf himself; the Voice is tragic in that the loss of Saruman becomes final -- Saruman rejects Gandalf's overtures to cast away evil and join them; Shelob's Lair costs Frodo and Sam their guide, Gollum rejects the call to good, and Frodo himself falls victim to Shelob.

Further, each chapter presents a resolution to a strong dramatic question: Is Gollum bad (the reader suspects, but does not know for sure, whether he will betray Frodo)? When will the black riders actually strike, and what will their attack be like? What does the beating of the drums mean (it certainly can't be good)? Will Saruman turn anyone with his renowned Voice; and, when Gandalf tries to flip the script, will Saruman give up the mantle and find redemption among his old friends?

Tolkien answers each of those questions in the worst possible way: yes, Gollum is evil. Yes, the black riders are extremely dangerous and have weapons where a mere puncture will not only kill you, but blacken your very soul. Yes, a giant monster who is superior to Gandalf is behind the beating of the drums. No, Saruman cannot accept the redemption and forgiveness of his friends.

Shelob's Lair, like the other great chapters before it, contain the elements that make a chapter truly great to read: it preys on our darkest fears of monsters, darkness, claustrophobia, and our very guides through them all either vanishing or turning against us.

"The Stairs of Cirith Ungol" - Eric's Thoughts

While the previous chapter (Crossroads) seems to be filler material to lend credibility of how long the journey is, it lacked any palpable form of external antagonist (other than the terrain) or internal struggle. That is why that chapter was not particularly compelling, and I agree with Ben and Jacob that some pruning was in order.

This chapter alleviates what was lacking in the previous chapter and has some very compelling moments. Three stood out in particular.

The first, of course, is the internal confrontation between Frodo and the Ringwraith. Note that the confrontation was internal, not external. No swords are parried, no bullets flying in the air, but the language here was more compelling than Helm's Deep: "Frodo waited, like a bird at the approach of a snake, unable to move. And as he waited, he felt, more urgent than ever before, the command that he should put on the Ring. But great as the pressure was, he felt no inclination now to yield to it."

The reader turns the page, literally, to determine if Frodo will put on the Ring. As we know from the Fellowship, if Frodo puts on the Ring here, he is doomed. Yet, somehow Frodo is drawn to put the Ring on. The reader knows the stakes; Tolkien does not have to say them outright. At first it seems Frodo is tempted, then he knows putting it on would not lend him the strength to fight the Witch King, but then his finger draws ever closer nonetheless. It's a compelling back and forth internal dialogue wrought with inconsistency -- and that is why it is so interesting to watch. Finally, a magic token takes him out of the spell, and the Witch King is vanquished, merely moving on with his armies to continue in his quest to destroy the entirety of Gondor. Frodo, reflecting on the vast size of Sauron's armies and how even if he did the impossible and destroyed the Ring, says "'There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.' Overcome with weakness he wept. And still the host of Morgul crossed the bridge." Frodo emerges triumphant, yet his great victory is still not enough to overcome inevitable defeat.

Second, as my fellow readers note, is the interesting diversion into metafiction. Sam and Frodo's dialogue, discussing how Lord of the Rings is nothing but a story, makes the characters feel even more real than before. Interestingly, just as Tolkien did, Robert Jordan in the Wheel of Time used this technique regularly -- sometimes having the main character Rand reflect that doing things in reality were much more difficult than what he had read in stories. What Rand, and Sam and Frodo have observed is a thought real people often have, so characters that reflect on how their lives relate to stories they've read lends the character almost an air of credibility. Sam says, "I wonder what sort of a tale we’ve fallen into?’" A reader too can't help but wonder what sort of tale he has fallen into, and what legacy he will leave behind.

Third, the marvelously written dialogue between Sam and Gollum. Tolkien really shines at his best when he's writing dialogue for Smeagol. After Gollum sneaks off and returns, he shows a glimpse of humanity, almost as if he's regretting his decision to betray his friends (revealed in the next chapter). Sam calls Gollum a sneak, chastises him, and Gollum's eyes turn green, symbolizing that his brief moment of humanity is gone. The dialogue that ensues is tragic, but similarly hilarious. Gollum mutters, "‘No food, no rest, nothing for Sméagol,’ said Gollum. ‘He’s a sneak.’"

"'Don’t take names to yourself, Sméagol,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s unwise, whether they are true or false.'"

"'Sméagol has to take what’s given him,’" answered Gollum. "‘He was given that name by kind Master Samwise, the hobbit that knows so much.’"

Gollum plays the victim (is he just deranged or purely manipulative?), when it is he that is about to betray the Hobbits, demonstrating the psychological complexity of this tragic creature.

"Journey to the Cross-roads" - Eric's Thoughts

This chapter could have been trimmed.

Peter Jackson's "The Two Towers" - Jacob's Thoughts

The first installment of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy came out my freshman year of college, which I eagerly watched in an IMAX theater with my family.  The remaining two installments, however, came out while I was a missionary in Puerto Rico; in fact when I left, I considered it part of my sacrifice before the Lord that I would miss seeing in theaters the cinematic event of my generation--or so I assumed.

But a funny thing happens on your mission: despite making meticulous catalogues of all the media we intended to catch up on once home, by the end there, most of us found that our general attitudes towards film had coalesced into indifference.  For those two years, we had lived life too directly, too purely, too deliberately, for us to be impressed by mere escapist fantasy anymore.  What were the formulaic inventions of Hollywood hacks compared to the passions of real lives really lived, in all their grief, power, and intensity?  What were the artifice of CGI or even live-sets compared to the hot sun on our skin, the glare in our eyes, the sweat on our face, the noise of the streets, the palms in the breeze, the broken-concrete under our feet?  Well do I remember going to the theater a month after my mission and becoming hyper-aware, for the first time ever, that all I was watching were projections upon a screen, nothing more.  When my old High School friends presented me with stacks of DVDs and CDs to catch-up on, I looked upon it as less a relief than a chore.

For me, that whole disorienting homecoming experience was doubly compounded by the fact that my Mom was literally on her deathbed when I came home, in the terminal stages of cancer, so those stacks of DVDs felt especially puerile.  The Singles Ward, The RM, The Hometeachers, and other LDS schlock had just come out, which compared to my lived experience as an LDS missionary felt not only asinine but actively offensive in their banality--especially with my mother withering away on the couch behind me, unconscious and breathing heavily.

All of this is just long preamble to say that, when I finally saw Peter Jackson's The Two Towers for the first time, on DVD a week home from my mission, I was the least primed I could possibly have ever been to be impressed with it at all.  In a sense, mine is the exact inverse trajectory of Ben and Erics': rather than being blown away by the spectacle initially only to eventually grow bored with the whole ordeal later, I instead was bored with it from the beginning, and it has only been in the years since that I have grown to appreciate certain of its virtues.

Because my mission is now officially awhile ago, and I have long since re-acclimated myself to movie watching, for better and for worse.  So the question I faced as I rewatched The Two Towers last night, for the first time in many years, is how would I engage with the film now, so free of all the swirling hype that demanded I should love it back when I was least disposed to?  Would I find myself nodding off, nodding along in solemn agreement with Ben and Eric that the whole thing is just an interminable slog?

That The Two Towers is slow and sure takes its sweet time is surely self-evident, perhaps even its defining characteristic.  But I also found myself musing if that is necessarily a bad thing.  One of my favorite, most thought-provoking films from my youth is 2001: A Space Odyssey, and that movie moves slow as molasses--and good thing, too, because the film needs all that room to breath.  One cannot get a sense at all for the vastness, the loneliness, the breadth, depth, and expansiveness of the cosmos, without that glacial pace to expand your consciosness.  Similarly, the Battle of Helm's Deep, I've come to the conclusion, really needs that extended running time--the battle really needs to feel so interminable, the hopelessness so profound, the darkness so complete, such that when the sun rises and the victory finally comes, you really feel it.  It was a most curious sensation I experienced near the end of the Battle of Helm's Deep last night...I felt...moved...in a manner like I have felt in only fits and spurts throughout my entire adult film-watching existence.

Part of it too, I dare say, is I am now a little older, a little more mature, and am therefore more willing to take my time with experiences, to soak it all in.  Also, between this *ahem* interminable election cycle, and the latest spate of senseless mass shootings, along with my extended memories of the Iraq War and the long legacy of the Bush administration we're still living through (including the rise of ISIS), I have a much keener sense of just how long these bloody conflicts can last, how much it can weary the mind and the soul to feel all your values besieged from all sides.  "What can men do against such reckless hate?" wonders King Theoden aloud in the film, and the line resonates with me far more now than when I was 21, because it's a question I have caught myself asking more than once lately, as well.  That just makes the victory feel all the sweeter by the end--it feels earned, not merely escapist or fantasy wish-fulfillment.  I really felt like I needed to watch The Two Towers last night.

This is not to say I think the film is flawless.  At all.  I fully agree with Ben that Faramir (though the actor does the best he can with the material) is grossly mishandled by Jackson, and that his resolution with Frodo doesn't even make sense, neither internally nor in relation to the book.  I also think that Grima Wormtongue (though again, I think the actor does the best he can with what he's given) was likewise mis-portrayed--if the whole point of his character is that he is seductive with his words, shouldn't he be a little more, well, seductive?  As it stands in the film, he is just such a creep, it's strains credulity that anyone falls for his spell at all.  By way of comparison, in the books, when Frodo first meets Strider, he says he believed him cause he thought the agents of Mordor would "seem fairer and feel fouler, if you understand." But Jackson's Wormtongue never seems fair at all--he is visibly, objectively foul from beginning to end.  It feels like a missed opportunity to comment upon the seductiveness of evil, rather than falling into the easy, ridiculous ugly=evil/pretty=good binary that still makes us all so susceptible to salesmen.

But that is getting off topic; I would just like to conclude by saying that though The Two Towers really is slow, that is not intrinsically a bad thing--there is good slow and bad slow, like everything else.  For evidence, consider Peter Jackson's The Hobbit films, also interminable slogs, and ask yourself: would you rather rewatch those, or The Two Towers?  There is just something qualitatively different, definitively better, about the slow-pace of The Two Towers, a magic that Jackson completely lost by the time Warner Bro. twisted his arm into directing The Hobbits.

Until The Return of the King my friends.